


Life, the Crystal Spheres and Everything

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Aliens, Angels, Crossover, Gen, Reading, that remarkable book The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-14
Updated: 2004-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford Prefect meets an odd  earthman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life, the Crystal Spheres and Everything

''M n'alien, thass wass you're missin',' Ford said, blearily focusing on what he was fairly sure was a terribly nice fellow, given the number of empty glasses on the table, all of which had held beer that Ford hadn't had to pay for. 'Thass why everything I do's a bit off.' He drained the last of the beer in the glass currently in his hand. 'Don't unnerstan' your what-do-you-call-'em, your social customs. Haven't bothered learnin' them, only meant to be here a week.' He thankfully grabbed at the full glass held out to him and started in on it. 'S'been nine bloody years,' he said indistinctly.

'Well, if you're so unhappy, why don't you think about going back to your country?' the very nice, if somewhat odd-looking, fellow said. 'Are you worried about your visa being checked?'

Ford drew himself up with great dignity. This had very little effect, as he was leaning on the table at the time.

''M not a _nillegal alien_ ,' he said, and thought about it. He probably was. Maybe there were laws against coming from other planets. He shook his head and tried to remember what the important point was. Oh yes. His glass was empty again. He picked up one of the full ones. 'I'm an alien,' he enunciated carefully. 'I am not an immigrant, I am a little green man from outer space.'

'You can't be. There's no such thing,' the very nice fellow said decisively.

'Are you a theoretical physicist?' Ford said, feeling some of the alcohol-induced haze recede given the possibility of relieving a little frustration. 'Don't you consider extra-terrestrial life might be a possibility?' Millions of years' worth of Betelgeusean genetic programming focused down into the delicious certainty that he was about to get a chance to be publicly obnoxious.

'Well, no. You can't be from outer space because there's no such thing,' the fellow, whom Ford had downgraded from 'very nice' to 'potential target,' said dismissively.

Ford blinked. 'Excuse me?' he said.

'Outer space. There isn't any. There's just a series of crystal spheres revolving around the earth with the sun and the moon and the planets and stars tacked to them -- does it seem to you like there've been more falling stars than normal, recently? You'd think someone would carry out maintenance once in a while. Anyway, there's no _space_ \- the bits between the spheres are simply stuffed full of aether. So you see, you can't be from there, because there is no there for you to be from.'

'You,' Ford said, 'are a nutter. But that's better than being a theoretical physicist, so I think it's my round.'

'That's very kind of you,' the nutter, who was looking odder by the minute, said, 'but I'm expecting a friend - he's giving me a lift and he gets _very_ antsy if I'm late. I'd better wait for him outside. It's been very nice talking to you, Mr Prefect.'

'Oh, just one more drink,' Ford pleaded, 'honestly, I'll pay. You don't know how lonely it gets, being the only one of your species on a planet filled with these bloody monkeys.'

There was a loud and obnoxious sound of a car-horn from outside. Ford felt an immediate sense of connection with the bastard attempting to shatter everyone's eardrums.

'My dear Mr Prefect, I understand better than you think,' the nutter said, wincing, 'but I'd better go before he gets inventive. I hope you feel better tomorrow.'

He held out a soft hand, and Ford shook it sadly, watching him run out the door. The car-horn stopped immediately. He decided to go home. It took a fair bit of the weak Earth drinks to get to him, but when he started imagining that random people in pubs had wings, it was a definite sign he needed to stop for an hour or so.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Space is Big](https://archiveofourown.org/works/176646) by [minkhollow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkhollow/pseuds/minkhollow)




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